


An Exile's Return

by yellowballs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowballs/pseuds/yellowballs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a little different twist on the Season 5 episode entitled "The Gift".  Tyrion will just have to find a different way to Dany, and Jorah does not have greyscale.  Complete as is, just a one-off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exile's Return

With a sickening crunch, the slave warrior's helmet meets his skull, swung as a weapon in the hand of the game's victor.  The stricken man collapses, a red pool welling up beneath him.  Tossing aside the metal cap, Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island turns to the shaded dais, heart pounding, and removes his own headgear, revealing himself to the woman he loves, the Queen who has exiled him.

Standing staid and regal in her rich white gown with cape, Daenerys Targaryen knits her expressive brows in disbelief.  A shadow show of emotions frolics across her lovely face, hardening to a grim mask.

"Get him out of my sight," she says then, her voice breaking a little over the words.

Neck muscles taut with the effort of speaking past the lump in his throat, the Andal makes an anguished plea.  "Khaleesi, please!  I only need a moment of your time."

But Dany's resolve seems as intricate and immobile as the complicated braided coif she wears.  "Remove him," she says again, and Grey Worm and another of her Guard leap into the pit to pin Ser Jorah by each arm.  "Hold him in my tent.  I will deal with him there."

As he is led away, the exile struggles, straining to hold her gaze, his handsome face an open book.  Unmoved, Daenerys turns her back, ever the picture of strength to the people she rules.

Beside her, Hizdahr zo Loraq, elbows on knees, steeples his tapered fingers under his aquiline face, watching the departing prisoner.  "Who is this man?" he asks mildly.

Dany's eyes flicker momentarily in sadness.  "He was once in my service," she answers softly.  "And then he betrayed me."

"Will you have him killed?" her intended wonders a little too eagerly, rising to his feet.

"He will know the full measure of what I feel," promises Dany enigmatically.

Hizdahr takes her by the elbow and turns to leave, but Dany's feet do not move.  "No," she declines his escort.  "Leave me.  I will see you at court on the morrow."

"As you wish, Your Grace," the Ghiscari returns with a short bow, disappointment and curiosity vying for a place in his patrician heart.

 

 

 

 

***************************

 

Jorah looks up at the sound of the heavy tent flap being pulled aside.  Daenerys motions the guards to wait outside and strides in, taking a perch on a high standing chair.  She looks him over imperiously, silently, as though making a decision.

"What should Grey Worm do with this one?" the Unsullied asks in his stiff way.  He stands no less stiffly, spear at the ready, flanking Ser Jorah along with his Unsullied brother.

"You may leave us," Dany commands, carelessly brushing a hand towards the exit.

Her bodyguards glance at one another uncertainly.  "Your safety, Mhysa," protests Grey Worm, forgetting the proper forms of address in his concern.

"I do not fear this man," Daenerys assures them, a small smile beginning to play about her mouth.  "I can bring him to his knees with one word."

Jorah's ears perk up at that.  There is something behind the threat, something that gives him hope.  He allows a slight curve to  come to his split lips, and he holds her gaze boldly, beginning to feel less a prisoner and more a man.

Once left alone, the two continue to study each other's faces until the air becomes charged with the unspoken.  Finally Jorah breaks the silence.

"One word?" he asks gruffly, daring to take  a step closer.

Dany lifts her chin, stopping him on a knife's edge.  Has he misread her?  Then she speaks.

"Disrobe."

Eyes sparking in masculine triumph, Jorah unbuckles his leather breastplate-and-skirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it into a corner.  His vambraces follow, along with his filthy yellow shirt.  Yet he goes no further, standing half-naked and proud, his desire at war with his need to speak his heart.

  
"Khaleesi," he says, his voice soft, his eyes tortured.  "I have loved you for years.  First as a mentor, then as a man."

Dany's lips part and she comes to her feet slowly.

Ser Jorah takes another step nearer.  He could touch her now, if he wanted to, if he dared to.  "I will serve my Queen in whatever role she commands -- prisoner, slave, knight...." he pauses poignantly "...manwhore."  His honeyed baritone drops even lower.  "But I would have you come to me as a woman, not a Khaleesi."

Then suddenly, Dany is in his arms, pressed against the coppery fur of his chest.  Cupping her jawline with battle-scarred hands, Jorah molds his lips to hers in a kiss deep and sensual and long-overdue.  When they finally part, he growls, "I should have done that long ago.  You were made to be kissed, often and well."  This time they meet with fervor -- tasting, tonguing, hands roaming, bodies rocking.

Breathless, Dany eventually pulls away, liquid eyes gazing up at him.  With sure fingers, she releases the cape at her throat, then swivels to offer Jorah the back of her gown.  One by one, he unfetters the stays, slipping to the ground the once-white dress now stained with grime from his body.  Pulling her into him, he embraces her curves from behind, forcing himself to be gentle, even while his blood boils in his loins.

Expelling a soft moan, Dany rounds back to face him, pushing him playfully towards the wide couch.

"Get out of those boots and breeches," she breathes, toeing off her slippers in like fashion.

Ever the obedient knight, Jorah makes short work of it, drawing her by the wrist back into his embrace ere his pants settle into a heap.  Her lips part for him, whetting his hunger.  When her thighs do the same, he locks her vision with his, then slowly, exquisitely joins their bodies.  Long has Ser Jorah dreamt of this hour, but no fevered fantasy could ever have prepared him.  Their love-making is sweet beyond measure, passionate beyond imagining, intense beyond reckoning.  They enjoy each other until their senses can take no more.  As the sun drops low on the horizon, Jorah looks down at the now disheveled silver-haired head on his chest.  His voice rumbles on the brink of mirth.

"Will Your Grace consider lifting my exile ban now?"

Pushing herself up on an elbow, Dany simply stares at him.  Then they both burst into laughter, the first pure joy either has known in many long months.

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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